Standing Tall, Part 2: Just part of the family

ORANGE -- It is leaf-raking November weather as Roman Sweeney arrives home from school.

Singing a snippet of melody, ``Baby don't you know,'' the 7-year-old heads into his house in Orange. He plops down in front of the television and starts playing a skateboard video game with his brothers.

But this is the kind of day that makes parents shoo their kids out to play, and all five of the Sweeney children find themselves getting ready to go outside.

Roman, who has stumps for both legs and one arm, is clambering all over the downstairs, full of energy even though he has a bit of a cold. After living in a Russian orphanage, he was adopted by the Sweeneys and came to live with them at the end of January 2000.

"Roman, you had two gloves when you left for school today. What does that mean?'' asks Pam Sweeney, Roman's mother, as she goes through his backpack and finds one glove missing.

The pit is built simply, a circle in the dirt lined with a very low wall of boards. The point of the game, which the Sweeneys learned at camp, is to avoid getting hit below the knees with a tennis ball, though Roman just has to avoid getting hit on the legs.

"Roman was born for this game,'' Tessa says. However, Thadryan was camp champ.

Roman plays with the grace and strength of a gymnast. He shows off by swinging into a headstand and hitting the ball, a big grin spreading across his face. Another move sees him flipping up onto his right arm and spinning his body away from the ball.

At one point, Roman begins to cry, complaining that Toby had said he would not ``get him,'' but did anyway. Pam, standing in a doorway with a cup of coffee, acts as referee. She tells Toby to apologize.

Later, Roman whacks the ball at Toby and scores with a ``gotcha.''

"Come on boy, right here, right now, me and you,'' Thadryan says to Roman in another heat.

The afternoon air feels cool, and crispy brown leaves scatter across the lawn. Roman sings and dances.

When Tessa throws the ball far away and Tyler tries to get it and misses, Roman laughs long and uproariously.

As darkness falls, Roman begs for someone to stay in the pit and play just one more game.

Tim Sweeney, Roman's father, says he believes Roman's personality either is a gift from God or something he developed as a protective shield. The youngster would surely be a victim without it, he says.

"God would have to give him a spirit and a will that's very tall for a little boy with no legs,'' Tim says.

When Roman first came to live in Orange, people brought him gifts. Instead of tearing into the packages, the then-6-year-old would hide them -- unopened -- beneath his pillow for a couple of days.

For a child that young to do that shows a real compulsion to cherish the moment, Tim says.

But he emphasizes that Roman does not ``walk on water.''

"He's opinionated. He's a pain in the butt. He's a very normal 7-year-old,'' Tim says.

It is 6:45 a.m. in late November, and Roman lies in a hospital bed at Shriners Hospital in Springfield watching a rerun of ``The Jeffersons.''

He is very quiet, lying on his Winnie the Pooh pillow, with his Pooh blanket on top of him. Tim is by his side, as the youngster prepares to go into surgery for removal of a piece of flesh from his left leg so he can be fitted for prosthetic legs.

When Tim can only coax the tiniest of smiles from his son, he speculates that Roman either is tired or anxious. He kneels down by the bed.

"What are you thinking?'' Tim asks.

"I'm not thinking anything,'' Roman replies.

Roman starts making a stuffed Pooh bear dance, as he and Tim sing the Pooh song, ending with ``silly willy bear.''

Later in the morning, Roman is transferred to a gurney and wheeled to another room, where Tim says a quick prayer over his son. Roman watches a video of ``101 Dalmations'' and waits for a sedative to take effect.

As they watch the video, Tim kisses Roman and holds his hand. A few minutes later, Roman tickles his father's chin and pokes his nose.

Finally, it is time for Roman to go into the operating room. Tim kisses him again.

"I'll be waiting for you, OK? ... I love you,'' Tim says.

Six days later, a sloth Beanie Baby is getting a workout, as Roman plays a game of catch with his mother.

"I win!'' Roman cheers when his mother misses the toy.

"You're winning by one,'' Pam Sweeney says, correcting the score.

The pair are in an examining room at Shriners Hospital, waiting for Roman to be fitted for artificial legs.

The game comes to an end with the arrival of Robert P. Loeffler, a staff prosthetist, and Matt Parente, a prosthetic resident.

The two men are going to make molds of Roman's leg stumps. They dress him in two white unitards that cover his legs and tie them at his shoulders. The plaster will go over the unitards, which then will be peeled off.

Roman hams it up in the examination room. He happily refers to the staff members as ``buddy'' and ``dude,'' wiggles, thumps his chest like Tarzan, laughs and offers to help.

"You know what we're going to have you do, buddy?'' Mr. Loeffler asks.